


Dog Days of Summer (2009)

by xylodemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-01
Updated: 2009-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Remus/Sirius ficlets written for <span></span><a href="http://dogdaysofsummer.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://dogdaysofsummer.livejournal.com/"><b>dogdaysofsummer</b></a> 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. unsettled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The enigma of August.  
>  Season of dust and teenage arson._

Muggle bourbon lacks the familiar tang of Firewhiskey, the slow burn of magic hidden deep in Remus' gullet. His dust is still unsettled, his walls still creak and groan under the weight of the stars. He wanders unknown streets, his shoulders hunched against the restless sky, avoiding a graveyard he cannot bear to visit and a prison that's name tastes like ashes on his tongue. 

He cultivates his cobwebs, but some memories persist, creeping in slowly and when it is easiest -- when he is sleepless, when he is drunken, when the pain and anger of transformation finally submit to the fragile light of dawn. He dreams of a small cottage with flames licking at the eaves, of black smoke curling into the horizon and the tired snap of scorched wood. 

Of long fingers and quicksliver smiles. 

Summer brings out the worst. His mind is treacherous in the heavy heat, simmering with an endless need to return to the scene of the crimes. His thoughts are sharp, carved like crystal, undeniable even in the broad light of day. He seeks out each ache to turn over in his hands, worries his list of trespasses like a sore tooth. A broom cupboard on the fourth floor; a staircase that lead to the Owlery. The shack, after Gryffindor beat Slytherin; the common room, during a thunderstorm that rattled the castle like a toy. 

The August after sixth year, and the far corner of Mrs Potter's parched garden. They kissed and drank lemonade under a tall, windswept tree. Remus' hair was long and Sirius' was longer, and they both smelled of sunshine and good, red earth. 

Hours crawl by, marked by a pocket watch Remus no longer cares to look at. He is tired, and his dust is still unsettled.


	2. life aquatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _shark sighting_

"Are you sure this place is Muggle?" Sirius asked, a bit too loudly.

Remus poked him sharply in the ribs. "Yes."

"I don't think so." Sirius leaned closer to the glass, watching as a blowfish slowly expanded like a balloon. "That's an Engorgement Charm, is what that is."

"It's a defence mechanism," Remus explained.

"Engorgement Charm," Sirius insisted. "And I know from Engorgement Charms. James hexed my hands last week, just because I touched his biscuit tin." The way Remus had heard it, Sirius had put a pair of James' pants _in_ the biscuit tin, but Remus left it alone. With those two, it was often better not to ask. Sirius turned back to look at Remus, pulling a face. "My fingers still feel fat in the mornings."

A little girl standing near Sirius was peering at them curiously; she had pigtails and no front teeth, and Remus tried to lead Sirius away by the elbow. _Any excuse to touch him,_ Remus thought sourly. Sirius started to shrug him off, then curved his arm and curled his fingers in Remus' sleeve. 

"Look, there's another one," Sirius said, rapping smartly on the glass. This fish was more mottled than striped. It turned as it swam closer, studying them with bulging eyes and a gaping mouth. "Ghastly bugger, innit?"

"I suppose," Remus replied. 

The fish puffed up slowly, revealing sharp spines on its back and sides.

"That's a Shrake!" Sirius said, tapping the glass again. "I told you this place isn't Muggle."

"That's a porcupinefish, and yes, it is Muggle." The little girl was staring openly now, worrying at the gap in her teeth with her tongue. Remus tugged on Sirius' arm, his hand sliding down until he had Sirius by the wrist. _Careful with that_. Sirius didn't move, but he twisted his hand until his fingers were resting against Remus' palm, and Remus froze. He just stood there, blinking as Sirius watched the porcupinefish bob around piece of coral. "Come on," he said finally. His voice was thin and tight. "They have seahorses down this way."

"Seahorses are bloody boring," Sirius complained. 

"They might be," Remus said. He didn't much care if they were; he only cared that the seahorse display was a good hallway away from the little girl who was now watching Sirius hold his hand. "When have you seen seahorses?"

"Benjy Fenwick has some," Sirius replied. "Keeps them in a tank in his dorm. Ugly little blighters, and they don't do much but float around."

"Sea monkeys," Remus said. Sirius was still holding his hand. "Benjy Fenwick has sea monkeys."

"Oh." Sirius tilted his head slightly. "Well, I'm sure seahorses aren't much better."

There was a short, awkward pause; Remus frowned at his shoes and Sirius chewed his thumbnail.

"They have sharks," Remus offered finally, because the silence was making him _itch_. "You like sharks."

"Do I?"

"I think so. Great, white beasts with lots of teeth. They eat people, sometimes."

"Oh, right," Sirius said, smiling sheepishly. "Let's see the sharks, but after that, we're going to pick up some curry and go back to my flat." He smiled again, but it was different, brighter. "Lily gave me a Muggle telly. It doesn't work, but I think between us we can get it sorted."

Remus suddenly felt nervous, unsure of his footing. Sirius was still holding his hand. "What if we can't?"

"Well, we can always snog," Sirius replied evenly. "Works for James and Lily when they're bored." Remus' eyes widened, and Sirius took a quick breath. "Unless you don't want to." He dropped Remus' hand. "I just thought, since you keep taking me on these daft dates, that maybe... but if you don't--"

"No, it's not that," Remus cut in. _I can't be hearing him properly_. "I didn't think you--"

Sirius laughed. "Of course I do, you barmpot. If I didn't, I wouldn't be standing here looking at bloody fish. I wouldn't have spent last Tuesday looking at ugly paintings that don't move."

"Oh." Remus frowned at his shoes again; his face was on _fire_. "So, your place, then?" 

"The sharks first," Sirius insisted. "I'm not passing up great beasts that eat people."


	3. laundry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _summertime clothes_

Remus' mum does laundry the Muggle way, the old-fashioned Muggle way, with a metal board and a large, wooden tub and soap that smells sweet but looks coarse to the touch. She hunches over her work, humming tunelessly, her long hair tied into a messy, lopsided bun and her sleeves rolled up well past her elbows. She heats the water with her wand, and she hauls the tub onto the table with a flick of her wrist, but she deals with the rest under her own steam, and Sirius doesn't understand. It seems like too much trouble over something that can be sorted with a spell, and Sirius stares the first time she does it, unable to look away from something so strange.

The second time, she catches Sirius while he's wandering the back garden alone, and enlists his help in separating the lights from darks. 

"My hands like to be busy," she explains, as a wet jumper arches up to meet the tip of her wand. It floats over to the line stretched between two balding lemon trees, settling in amongst Remus' faded shirts and Mr Lupin's mismatched socks. "Same reason I knit, I suppose." Her fingers are fever-pink and pruney at the tips. "Of course, I'd knit less if Remus would stop growing."

Remus has gained two inches since school let out for the summer holiday; his elbows and knees come at sharp, sudden angles, and the hem of his trousers doesn't quite reach his ankles. He slouches as he walks from the house to the barn, like his shoulders don't yet realise that he's taller than he was a month ago, and Sirius watches him feed the chickens while he helps Mrs Lupin sort the sheets from the duvets.

After dinner -- pork chops, also cooked the Muggle way, and far tastier than anything Kreacher has ever conjured -- they escape to the porch, sprawling out on the creaky swing as the sun dips below the horizon. Sirius sneaks a cigarette, puffing soft curls of smoke into the colourless sky, shivering slightly when the air picks up a chill. Remus grabs him a shirt from the line, a tired long-sleeve with thin, brown stripes. It's ridiculously soft, not in a fancy way, or an expensive way, just well-washed and well-worn, and it smells clean -- not his family's heavy starches and lavender talc, but like summer sunshine and handmade soap. 

"Sorry," Remus mumbles, as Sirius pulls it on. "It's all I've got."

"No," Sirius says. The elbows are patched, and the cuffs stop short of Sirius' wrists. "It's perfect."


	4. princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _diamond necklace_

Sirius is an interfering prat with an impeccable sense of bad timing, so of course he walks into their dorm at the very moment Remus is setting a Jelly-Legs Jinx on the inside of his trunk. 

"Getting caught in the act is a bad show and an amateur's mistake," Sirius observes. Remus nearly jumps out of his skin, because Sirius is the last person he expects or wants to see; when he whirls around, he finds Sirius smirking at him from the doorway, his arms folded and his hip cocked against the lintel. "Shall I go back downstairs and give you another go at it?"

"I don't know," Remus says slowly. "Would you rather I hexed your underpants pink?"

"Is that what's got your knickers in a twist?" The door creaks closed, and Sirius settles on the edge of his bed. "Pink underpants?"

"With stars on," Remus snaps, resisting the urge to throw something large and heavy at Sirius' head. "Every single pair! And I woke up late, so I didn't have time to get them sorted."

Sirius snorts. "I'm sure it was harrowing, since you often go to class without your trousers." Remus glowers, but Sirius just snorts again and waves him off. "That was James, anyway. He's still naffed off about the sparkly stuff you put in his shampoo."

"That was Peter!"

"Then Peter's the man you need to talk to. I mean, it's his fault, if you think about it."

"Either way, my underpants are still pink!"

Sirius favours Remus with a long, considering look, then Banishes his trousers with a wave of his wand. Remus is too stunned to do much about it at first, but his thoughts quickly turn to murder, because Sirius is laughing.

"They are rather ridiculous," Sirius admits, shaking his head slowly. "Maybe if the stars weren't quite so yellow."

Growling, Remus lunges for him. Sirius rolls away, and tries to slide off the other side of his bed, but Remus catches him by the arm and hauls him back up. Sirius spits out a spell, and Remus doesn't expect much at first, since Sirius' wand is in Remus' armpit and he's got a mouthful of his own hair, but the stars on Remus' pants flicker from yellow to red, which only makes the whole thing worse. He shoves Sirius over and onto his back, sits on Sirius' legs, and stabs his wand at Sirius' tie. 

It neatly shifts into a fussy, diamond necklace, all curling silver and heart-shaped stones, and Sirius looks _horrified_. 

"What the bloody hell is that?" Sirius demands.

"It's fetching, really," Remus says, as Sirius pulls at it and gropes around for the clasp. "Brings out your eyes."

Sirius huffs. "I still don't know why you're having a go at me." The necklace relents after another firm yank, and Sirius holds it up, frowning. "Peter's the one who set James on your underpants."

"That's true," Remus agrees, "but you're here _now_."

Sirius gives Remus a shove, but there's not much behind it; he's pinned to the bed, and his wand is now under Remus' knee. Remus grabs the necklace from Sirius, saving it just as Sirius tries throwing it across the room, and Transfigures it again. It retains the soft curls and heart-shaped diamonds, but it shifts into a perfectly pointed tiara, and Remus sets it on Sirius' head. 

"Yes," Remus says, leaning back to survey his work. "That's much better."

Sirius sighs heavily. "If it makes you happy."

"Will you wear it to dinner?" Remus asks. 

"Only if you leave your trousers off."

"Um," James says, a bit loudly. He hangs in the doorway and blinks at them like an owl. "Have I come at a bad time?" 

"Not at all," Remus replies, reaching for his wand. "I want to talk to you about your underpants."


	5. homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a sketch of a boy curled up next to a refrigerator_.

Sirius paused as he opened the door to his flat; the lamps had been dimmed since he left, and the Floo had been used. A small pile of ashes still smouldered in the fireplace.

"James?" Sirius asked, throwing his keys on the table and toeing off his shoes. "Did Evans toss you out again?" He laid his jacket on the couch and headed for the kitchen. "I don't care what you did, but you'd better smooth her out by tomorrow night. She promised to cook dinner, and I've been looking forward to a spot of real food."

He brightened the kitchen lamp and set his take-away carton on the sideboard. 

"Dammit, James. I've had nothing but curry for a week."

"Sorry."

Sirius turned and looked down; Remus was curled up on the kitchen floor, next to the Muggle refrigerator Lily had insisted Sirius buy, his arms wrapped around his knees and his wand next to his bare feet. 

"Moony?"

"Sorry," Remus said again, quietly. He looked tired and spread thin, dressed in the same clothes he'd worn to the local two nights ago. "Are you expecting James?"

Sirius shook his head. "I saw the Floo was on; I figured Evans was on a tear and he'd come down here to hide."

A tight silence stretched between them, peppered by the dull hum of the refrigerator. Remus' hair needed cutting. Sirius didn't like the slump in his shoulders, or the careful curve of his hands. He dropped down to the floor, crossing his legs, and tugged on Remus' sleeve. 

"You all right?" 

"Yes." Remus sighed and leaned his head against the wall. "No."

Sirius dug his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one with Remus' wand. "You want to tell me about it?"

"No," Remus replied. He picked at a frayed spot on his trousers, pulling a loose thread until it snapped. "Yes."

Sirius shifted closer, fitting himself between Remus and the wall. Remus sighed again, softer, and turned his head, pressing his cheek to Sirius' shoulder. Sirius slid his legs into the space under Remus' bent knees and curved his hand around Remus' wrist. Brushing his thumb over Remus' pulse, he took slow drags of his cigarette and listened to Remus breathe. 

"I lost my place," Remus admitted finally. He voice was sour at the edges. "I came up short."

Sirius gave his hand a squeeze. "You should've asked. I'd have lent it to you. Any of us would've."

"It's not lending if I can't pay it back." He pulled his hand away and favoured Sirius with a tight frown. "I can't just let you and James support me."

"It'll be all right," Sirius said, flicking ash onto the ugly kitchen lino. "We'll find you another place." Flats were always difficult, since they wanted references and deposits Remus didn't have, but Lily was a wonder at finding batty, old Muggle women with spare bedrooms they were willing to let. "Just give it a couple of days."

"There's not much point," Remus muttered. "My job's about done for."

"Why? Because of--"

"Yes," Remus said sharply. His last transformation had been rough; he'd been half-dead for three days after, and nearly as bad for three days after that. "I thought it would be easier, with Muggle jobs, but I was gone almost a week, with no notice. My boss hasn't said anything yet, but I can tell. If he doesn't sack me before next month, he'll certainly do it after."

Sirius' cigarette had burnt itself out; he Banished it to the rubbish bin and wrapped his arm around Remus' shoulder.

"Can I stay here tonight?" 

"I wish you'd just stay."

Remus pulled away from him, slouching back into the refrigerator. "I already told you, I can't just--"

"Pay me rent, if you must," Sirius said lightly. A complicated expression passed over Remus' face; Sirius reached out and poked the crease forming on Remus' forehead. "Whatever you can afford." 

"What if," Remus began, curling in and wrapping his arms around his knees, "what if next month, I can't afford anything, at all?"

"Teach yourself to cook, then, and I'll take it out in trade," Sirius replied. His fingers itched to touch -- to pull Remus back in, to push Remus' fringe out of his eyes. "I'm telling you, if I have to eat another Pot Noodle, I may throw myself from the fire escape."

Silence came, crashing down awkwardly. Sirius inched closer and rested his hand on Remus' arm. 

"No."

"Moony."

"I'm going to speak with Dumbledore in the morning," Remus said. "He's always got stuff that needs doing, and I don't mind travelling. It's warm, now, so--"

Sirius kissed him. It wasn't much, just a quick brush of lips made clumsy by the strange angles of their bodies. Remus' breath caught, but he didn't move away. Sirius leaned in again, catching just the corner of Remus' mouth. 

"Sirius."

"I've always wanted to," Sirius said simply. "You know it. You _have_ to know it. I've never pretended otherwise."

Remus caught Sirius by the wrist, just as Sirius' had was curving around his neck. "Neither have I, but that doesn't--"

Sirius kissed him again. 

"Stay."


	6. everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _homosexuality_

James is in the loo when Sirius leans over and kisses Remus, long and slow, but Sirius doesn't stop when James wanders back in, just presses Remus deeper into the couch, his hand in Remus' hair and his tongue pushing at Remus' lips. Sirius' Muggle telly flickers, painting the darkened room with sharp flashes of colour. James clears his throat softly, muttering as he settles in on his own side of the couch, and Sirius slowly pulls away, sighing and nipping at the corner of Remus' mouth.

He knows about them, has known since the beginning, possibly knew before it even started, because Sirius tells James absolutely everything. James never complains, never hedges his smiles, but Remus worries sometimes; there is a marked difference between knowing a thing and seeing it in the flesh, watching it spread out and open, and Sirius belongs to James, always has -- in most ways, if not _that_ way -- and probably always will. 

Sirius wraps his arm around Remus' shoulder, laughing as a fat bloke does something daft on the telly. He turns to James, his thumb brushing the base of Remus' neck and his fingers sifting through Remus' hair, and starts up a conversation about last night's Quidditch. 

This is just Sirius' way; he drops a kiss to Remus' temple in mid-sentence, smooths his hand over Remus' shoulder as he passes James another beer, and Remus allows it, because it would never occur to Sirius that he wouldn't, that James might not care to see it -- that anyone might not care to see it, or that anyone would even care. Over time, Remus has learned that Sirius' confidence and casual arrogance come without reservations, less disregard for others and more inability to see outside himself. He doesn't have a place, not really -- the Wizarding world rejected him, the Muggle world is still to foreign -- which leaves him without a reality, without rules or regulations. He's free to do as he pleases, to laugh into Remus' neck as James tells a terrible joke, to hold Remus by the hips while needling Lily to make trifle for pudding.

He holds Remus' hand on the train, his thumb tracing pattern in the centre of Remus' palm, and he stands too close while in line for the cinema, his fingertips warm points at the small of Remus' back. He kisses Remus whenever he likes: next to street lamps and rubbish bins, in alleys and parks and the shadowed doorways of closed-up shops. He coaxes Remus into the local's bog with sure smiles and mischievous eyes, and he laughs when Remus says they shouldn't, laughs again and louder when Peter catches them at it, his face purple as hurries away. 

The telly blares as bright and loud and fierce as a circus. Sirius' hand slides up Remus' thigh as James talks about England's chances against Ireland, and Remus allows it, because he wants this, wants _Sirius_ , anywhere and everywhere and wherever Sirius likes.


	7. mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _two boys in bed together_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings: adult content)

Remus wakes to a hand curving over his hip, fingers warm through his worn pyjamas, thumb just barely brushing over his skin. The bed creaks carefully, lamenting like the ancient thing it is, and Remus slowly opens his eyes. Sirius' face is soft in sleep, too-close and streaked by daylight; he breathes deep and evenly, his mouth parted and his dark hair tumbling across his forehead. 

Sunshine dapples the coverlet, cut into patterns by the tree outside the window. Remus runs a fingertip along the arch of Sirius' brow, traces into the slope of his cheek and follows the sharp line of his jaw. Sirius shifts, stretching and burrowing deeper into the pillow; he's quiet and still, tamed in a way that is impossible while he's awake. Remus smooths his thumb over Sirius' mouth, pausing at the soft swell of his lower lip, and Sirius sighs into it, eyelashes stirring, mumbling as his hand tightens on Remus' hip. 

"Moony."

Not-quite kisses: Sirius' mouth is tired and clumsy and Remus finds him at an odd angle, his tongue grazing Sirius' chin and Sirius' teeth catching Remus' lip. Sirius laughs, a soft flutter of sound that puffs over Remus' skin, and Remus slips his hand around Sirius' neck, fingers curling in soft strands that are damp with sleep and sweat. Their legs are hopelessly tangled; Sirius presses closer, his legs inching between Remus', and the coverlet twists around Remus' ankle. The bed creaks again, pained and exhausted, and Remus rolls Sirius over, presses him into the pillows and kisses him properly, his tongue pushing into Sirius' mouth and his hands cradling Sirius jaw. 

Sirius meets him with a slow roll of hips, liquid and warm, breathing into the kiss as his hands glide up Remus' sides. He makes a low noise, quiet and secret in the back of his throat, his cock hard against Remus' belly and his fingers tripping over Remus' skin. Remus presses down and closer, turning until their cocks can slide together, slow aching pressure, his mouth at Sirius' neck and his hands in Sirius' hair. He hides a kiss behind Sirius' ear, licks a wet path to the hollow of Sirius' throat. The sunlight twists, painting the bed in whites and golds, and Sirius arches up, his breath hitching and his hands curving over Remus' arse. 

A slow shudder runs through Remus' body, spreading up from his toes as heat curls low in his belly, and Sirius murmurs his name, whispered and needy, gasping it out with a restless snap of his hips. His fingernails bite into Remus' skin, sharp stings up Remus' spine, and Remus lets himself be pulled under, lets Sirius pull him under, coming with Sirius' nipple hidden under his thumb and the sweep of Sirius' collarbone under his mouth. Sirius follows with a kiss and a half-swallowed moan, his body shaking and drawing taut, his hands warm on Remus' back.

The post owl pecks at the window, then drops the _Prophet_ on the sill and flaps off with a screech. Sirius' eyes slide closed, his hand curling under his chin, and Remus flips the coverlet up over his shoulder.


	8. sweets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a recipe for peach and crème fraîche tart_

"Bloody hell," James said darkly. His voice cut through a soft, billowing cloud of confectioners' sugar; delicate, white dust clung to his hair and face, frosting his eyebrows, nose, and chin. "This is bollocks."

"Your face is bollocks," Sirius replied, as he carefully sliced peaches into quarters. He was using an obscenely sharp knife, which Remus found mildly worrying, but Mrs Potter had allowed it. Either she trusted Sirius further than Remus did, or sixteen years as James' mother had made her a dab hand at healing spells. Sirius paused, hefting the knife like a sword, and directed a frown at James' white-coated hands. "Here, that's meant to go _in_ the tart, not _on_ it."

James huffed loudly. "Your mum's a tart."

Sirius' mouth twitched, but he grabbed another peach rather than rising to the bait. Remus was not surprised; Sirius was all for a good game of _your mum_ under normal circumstances, but he firmly believed that Mrs Potter walked on water.

"Did you figure out what to do with all that butter, then?" Remus asked. 

"Yeah," James mumbled. The butter dish was bright blue with stars on, and James gave it a sharp poke. "I think I've got it sorted."

A companionable silence fell over the kitchen, during which Sirius managed not to mortally wound himself and James ignored the butter in favour of coaxing a half-pound of confectioners' sugar back inside a rather mangled box. Remus scanned Peter's latest letter from Majorca -- _the weather is great, the water is perfect, the girls are wearing next to nothing_ \-- and took a large bite from the peach he'd nicked from Sirius' pile. He picked the softest and sweetest spot, right in the centre of a blood-red bruise, and sticky juice ran down his chin and hands. He chased it with his tongue without a second thought, sucking his fingers until he glanced up and caught Sirius watching him, his mouth curving with a dangerous smile.

"Hey, now! Make sure those are even," James said, adding entirely too much baking powder to the sad mess in front of him, and Remus flushed, spots of colour blooming high on his cheeks. Sirius quickly returned to his work, elbowing James when James came up and peered over his shoulder. "The tarts will look like rubbish if the peach bits are all different sizes." 

"All right, all right," Sirius grumbled. He trimmed a particularly large piece down to size, popping the excess in his mouth. "I don't know why you're fussed; it's not like Evans will give a toss what they look like."

Remus folded Peter's letter and set it aside. "She's not going to eat them."

"She's not even going to open the ruddy box," Sirius agreed.

"I hate you both," James declared loftily. He'd wiped most of the sugar from his face, but a thin streak lingered near his chin, lurking along the line of his jaw like a daft, snow-white beard. "Anyway, it doesn't matter if she eats them. That's not the point."

"What is the point, then?" Sirius asked.

James rolled his eyes and waved a large glob of what Remus supposed was dough. "The point _is_ , I made them."

Sirius considered this for a moment, tapping the knife on the table and fixing James with a curious look. James offered up a goofy, somewhat lovesick smile, and Remus laughed loudly. 

"What's so funny?" James demanded.

"Your face," Sirius observed.

"Well, yes. There is that," Remus said, as James flipped Sirius the two-fingered salute. He reached past Sirius for another peach and Sirius leaned into him, too close, bumping their shoulders together. His breath ghosted over Remus' neck, and Remus felt another wave of heat creep across his cheeks. "Just, it seems like a lot of bother, is all. Making tarts for Evans when you know she won't eat them."

"It _is_ a lot of bother, but that's exactly why I'm bothering," James replied, fiddling with the little baking dishes Mrs Potter had provided. His dough looked decent enough, but Remus suspected it was a bit too thick. "She might not eat the tarts, but she can't ignore the gesture. It's the thought that counts, and all that rot."

"See, Moony?" Sirius asked, turning to Remus. His smile was wide and bright and edged with something secret. "I told you he's gone off."

"I should've known you wouldn't understand," James accused, pointing and wagging a dough-covered finger. "Not a romantic bone in your bodies, either of you."

Sirius snorted rudely. Shaking his head, Remus took a bite of his peach. 

"Gormless gits," James muttered. He placed a lopsided circle of dough in a baking dish and began beating it into submission with the heel of his hand. "This is why you're both single."

"Yes, because you're not," Remus replied, just as Sirius said, "Who says I'm single, then?" 

James blinked slowly. Sirius fumbled for another peach, slicing into it quickly, but the knife slipped away and grazed his first two fingers. He cursed roundly and jammed his knuckles into his mouth, and Remus frowned at his own feet.

"Well, who is she, then?" James asked. His voice was tight and a tiny bit injured; he naturally assumed Sirius told him anything and everything. "That one bird who was chatting you up on the train?" Remus couldn't think of her name, but he remembered her clearly enough. It had made for a long and frustrating ride to London, trying to find ten minutes alone with some girl following Sirius all over the Hogwarts Express. "Wossname -- you know, that Hufflepuff. With the legs, and that."

Sirius pulled a face, his lips twisting around his fingers. "No."

"Right," James' hand twitched over the lump of dough he had been mangling. "Stacey Bagnold? She was always asking you to help her with Divs."

"No, uh -- no."

"Probably for the best, that," James said, nodding slowly. "She's fit, I guess, but she can't be very bright. Not if she couldn't fill out a star chart by herself." He looked down at the table, his teeth creasing his lower lip, and everything suddenly felt stilted and awkward. Remus couldn't quite breathe. "Ugly, is she? I mean, otherwise, you'd tell me."

Remus retreated to the other side of the table and busied his nervous hands by folding and unfolding Peter's letter. He'd never been to Majorca -- _the weather is great, the water is perfect, the girls are wearing next to nothing_ \-- and he didn't much care for sunny weather or half-naked girls, but it sounded lovely at the moment, sounded a right sight better than James' kitchen. Sirius went after the peach that had caused his injury, his knife-hand shaking just slightly, but it rolled away before Sirius could cut into it.

"Good Lord, she's not in Slytherin, is she?" 

"Forget it, Prongs," Sirius said sharply. He avoided James' eyes, mucking around with a box of white sugar and a small pot of cream. "I, um -- I was just, you know."

"Oh." James set is dough aside and dusted his hands on his trousers. "I suppose that means you two finally got yourselves sorted."

Sirius' knife clattered to the table. "James."

"Sirius," Remus said quietly. His face was on fire, and this thing they had was still too new, still too fragile. It had started barely a month before school let out for the holiday, just stolen kisses in dark corners and broom cupboard, and over the last seven weeks -- until James had asked Remus to visit -- they'd mostly kept it alive through letters and awkward fire calls. "Sirius, don't."

James divided a long, searching look between them. "I see."

"Don't be sore, James. Please." Sirius took a step closer to Remus; James narrowed his eyes, but Sirius' hand shot out and curled around Remus' wrist. "I won't fight with you. Not about this."

"Oh -- oh, my God," James mumbled, raking his hand through his hair. "I didn't really think that, uh. I mean, I kind of thought you might want to -- well, you know -- but I never thought you'd actually, um." His face was quite pink around the edges, and he rather looked like he was trying not to laugh. "It's all right, you know. If you are."

"All right?" Remus repeated. Sirius was pointedly not looking at either of them, but his hand was still at Remus' wrist, his fingers warm against Remus' skin. 

"Yes. It's all right." James smiled brightly. "Anyway, why would I be sore. Except that you didn't tell me."

Sirius opened his mouth, then shut it. Remus studied the clock hanging behind James' shoulder.

"I mean, we agreed," James said, folding his arms across his chest. "In second year, after we figured out Remus'... _problem_ , we agreed there would be no secrets."

Remus forced himself to breathe. Sirius tightened his hold on Remus' wrist and pressed a quick kiss to Remus temple. 

"Ugh," James grumbled, throwing a tiny ball of dough in their direction. "I said it was all right. I didn't say I'd watch you snog."

Sirius barked out a quick laugh and wrapped his arm around Remus' shoulder. "You should totally watch us snog. Everyone should, because it's a beautiful thing. We look so good when we snog that the very sight could cure spattergroit."

Remus smacked Sirius for that, but Sirius just laughed harder. 

"Oh, just wait," James said, pelting them with more balls of dough. "When Evans sees these tarts, she'll have to give me date, and then I'll snog her in front of you all day long." He paused, frowning slightly. "She'll snog me, right?"

"Not on your life," Sirius replied, just as Remus said, "I'm pretty sure she'd rather kiss Slughorn."


	9. questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _there are always questions_

Remus slouches in at a wholly unreasonable hour, late even by Sirius' fairly generous standards, late enough that it is almost early. The tiny bedroom is dark, except for the sliver of moon peeking in through the window; Remus sighs quietly and picks a cautious path away from the door, skirting around a few stray shoes, an untidy stack of Quidditch quarterlies, and a small pile of Sirius' clothes. He stumbles over the last bit, tangling his foot in a shirt and kicking a rolled pair of socks across the room. Sirius watches him from the bed they are meant to be sharing, tucked into a nest of blankets and pillows built up at the headboard.

"Well, someone had a rough night," Sirius comments, as Remus hunches over to pull at his shoelaces.

"Oh." Remus straightens with a jerk, then looks over at Sirius. Swaying slightly, he squints against the sudden flare of Sirius' wand. "Hey."

"I almost gave up on you," Sirius says. He pitches his voice low, tries to keep it steady. "Up to no good, and that?" 

"I guess," Remus replies evenly. He sways again and points at Sirius with the shoe in his hand. "What's your story, then? Can't sleep?"

Sirius sinks deeper into the pillows. "Yeah."

"You couldn't sleep last night, or the night before," Remus observes, shrugging out of his shirt. "Or the night before that." He steps out of his denims and nudges them toward the clothes he tossed around on his way in. "You really haven't slept since we've been here. Everything all right?"

"Yeah," Sirius grumbles, tapping his wand against his knee. It winks out with a soft puff of smoke and Remus blinks at the darkness. "I'm fine. Just restless, is all."

"This was your idea, taking this trip."

It had been Sirius' idea, the four of them spending two weeks alone at the beach, one final and raucous jaunt before they venture out into the real world. He'd picked a time when Remus wouldn't be tired or cranky because of the moon, and he'd booked the nicest holiday cottage they could afford, but the long nights of laughter and bonfires and Firewhiskey he'd imagined haven't quite happened. James spends his time writing Evans, and Peter is Peter, and Remus -- Remus fell in with a local Muggle girl their third night in town. She's petite and freckled, with a wide smile and wavy, blonde hair, and she's always around, except when she steals Remus away.

"What's that supposed to mean, then?" 

"Nothing," Remus says, his voice cracking around a yawn. "Just, I hope you're having a good time."

"Grand."

"Right."

Remus just stands there for a moment, then tugs a blanket free and flops onto the bed. Sirius budges up to give Remus more space, but Remus follows him, curling into his side like a cat. He smells faintly of perfume and strongly of Muggle beer, and Sirius wrinkles his nose.

"You drunk?"

"Not much, no."

"Liar," Sirius mutters, chewing on a fingernail. Remus is pressed against him, too close. "Where did you go, anyway, when you went off with -- oh, wossname? I know you've told me."

"At least twenty times, yes," Remus says. "Meghan and I went into town."

"Just into town?" 

"We looked in a few shops." Remus stretches and burrows in, sneaking his head under Sirius' chin. "Walked down to the pier, and that."

"The pier, again? We were just there yesterday."

"She's fond of that chip place, down near the water -- you know the one I mean."

"Oh, right. Next to the bloke selling worms and such."

"The baits shop, yes."

Sirius frowns at Remus' hair; it keeps creeping into his mouth. "That's it? You ate fish and walked around?" 

"No," Remus mumbles, mostly to Sirius' collarbone. "Her friends were having a thing down at the beach. We stayed there for a bit."

"A bit? You were gone all bloody night!"

"Sorry, mum. Won't happen again." 

Sirius huffs. "Did you -- well, you know."

"What?" 

"Did you get in with her?"

"Oh, that." Remus shakes his head, his hair tickling Sirius' nose. "No."

"No?" Sirius tries to sit up, but Remus has him pinned to the bed on one side, and he grunts loudly when Sirius tries to shove him off. "Not even a snog?"

"We snogged a little, yeah."

"You snogged a little," Sirius repeats dubiously. Remus is breathing into his neck, soft puffs that make his skin prickle. He wishes he could put on a shirt. "No groping?"

"Sirius."

"Well, what's the point, then?" Sirius demands, poking Remus in the arm. "Letting some bird drag you all over Muggle everywhere, and you're not even having a go."

Remus sighs heavily and hides his face in Sirius' neck, and Sirius stares out the window, watching as the sky slowly gains colour. The silence is weighted in a way that makes Sirius itch, mainly because he knows Remus isn't asleep. His breathing is shallow and uneven, and the hand resting on Sirius' chest is fidgety, fingers twitching over Sirius' skin. 

"Do you like her?" Sirius asks eventually.

"She's nice."

"Nice?" 

"Yes, she's nice." Remus stretches his legs, brushing his foot over Sirius' shin. "What's with all the questions?"

"I'm just curious, is all."

"Why?"

"Well, you've been spending a lot of time with her."

Remus sighs again, lifting his hand from Sirius' chest, and he tenses like he means to roll over, but Sirius wraps his arm around his shoulder, pulling him back in. 

"Sirius," Remus says quietly. "I wish you'd tell me what you want."

"I can't -- you're just -- I don't know."

That's not entirely true; Sirius _does_ know -- he knows that Remus makes his cock hard and his chest tight, that he doesn't want anyone else touching Remus' skin, that when Remus slips into his dreams he wakes flushed and warm and sticky and spent -- but he can barely make sense of it inside his own head, can't put it into the kind of words he thinks Remus wants to hear.

"Remember that time you kissed me?" Remus asks. 

"We were drunk," Sirius replies quickly. They'd been very, very drunk, full of Firewhiskey and cheap, Muggle vodka. The shack had pitched and rolled like a ship, and the ceiling and spun around and around, and Sirius _does not want to talk about this_. "I can't -- I, um."

"I fell down, tripped over Peter's feet," Remus says, his voice soft and low. "You tried to help me up, but you couldn't stand, either, so you pulled me into your lap. And you held me there, put your arms around me so I couldn't move." Sirius closes his eyes; he remembers it perfectly, he's getting hard just thinking about it, and Remus is too close, there's no way he'll be able to hide it. "You kept laughing into my neck -- your lips were on my skin, Sirius -- and James finally told you just to get on with it, and you pushed me back onto the floor and snogged me."

"And then Peter passed out," Sirius finishes. "And James laughed so hard he was ill, and we took them back to the castle."

"That was almost a year ago." Remus runs his hand over Sirius' belly. "You've never once talked about it."

"Neither have you!"

"You didn't make it easy," Remus says, shifting closer. He's practically on top of Sirius now; his mouth his pressed to Sirius' jaw and Sirius cock is digging into his hip. "You avoided me fo a week, and then you started seeing McKinnon."

"And you were seeing -- wossname, Bagshot."

"Bagnold, and that's not important," Remus says, sliding his mouth up to Sirius' cheek.

"Moony."

"I'm going to kiss you."

"Right."

"And then I'm going to sleep."

"Right."

"And when I wake up, we're going to talk about it."

"Right."


	10. shadowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _wet pavement and a dark alley_

The sky opens up without warning, rending under a thunderclap that shatters against the cobblestones. Remus ducks into the doorway of an abandoned herbology shop, pushing his rucksack to the side as he struggles to releases his umbrella. It's ancient and Muggle-made, torn at one end and discourteous to repairing charms, and the ribs creak balefully when it finally unfurls. He steps out into the street, watching the storm assault a pair of witches who are hurrying past Gringotts. The air prickles with the weight of a Anti-Disapparation Jinx; after an Auror turned up dead in the Cauldron's bog, the Ministry put Diagon Alley under a strict curfew, decided everyone should come and go through the front gate. 

Remus turns away from the high street proper, slipping down an deserted back alley. He doesn't want to be seen -- not tonight, not carrying the things Dumbledore sent him to buy, not when he doesn't know which Aurors are guarding the entrance. One of his contacts works at the junk shop across from Ollivanders; if he can get there without being noticed, he might be able to use the Floo. 

A figure melts out of the shadows at the end of the row, and Remus reaches for his wand. He doesn't quite relax when he realises it's Sirius, doesn't know if he should be relieved.

Sirius studies him for a moment, his hand cupped around a cigarette fairly crawling with ash. Rain rolls down his leather jacket in tiny rivulets, and his hair is soaked and hanging in his face, clinging to his forehead and chin.

"Nice weather we're having," Sirius says tonelessly. The skin under his eyes is the colour of a bruise. "Hot as fuck one day, pissing down rain the next."

Remus frowns at his wand; he isn't sure why he hasn't put it away. "You don't have an umbrella."

"I, um -- I lent it to Peter."

"Oh. How his he?"

Sirius shrugs and drags on his cigarette. "All right, I guess." He takes a short, abortive step toward Remus, then pauses, pushing a wet handful of hair from his eyes. "He's been busy. Haven't seen him in a couple of days."

"Right."

Thunder rattles overhead. Remus hitches his rucksack higher on his hip, hopes Sirius doesn't ask what's inside. Sirius looks tired and worn, and his face is ashen and thin, his cheeks hollow and his jaw tight and sharp. Water streams down from the eave behind his shoulder, drizzling into the puddle spreading next to his foot.

Remus breaks first. "It's good to see you." It's only partially a lie.

"Yeah," Sirius replies quietly, and Remus looks away. It would be easier, maybe, if he didn't know how Sirius' skin tastes, how Sirius' hair feels twisted around his fingers. If he wasn't in love with Sirius, hadn't been in love with Sirius for most of his life. Sirius drops his cigarette and scrubs it out with his foot, his shoe grinding the pavement with a soggy scrape. "Are you, uh -- you're eating, right?"

"Most days."

Remus hasn't seen Sirius in seven weeks -- after Dorcas died, after the raid on Dovetown, after James took Lily and Harry into hiding. The Order is fractured; Remus doesn't think any of them trust him any more, is no longer sure he trusts himself. He almost wonders if he _is_ the spy they've been whispering about, if he accidentally said something -- somewhere, to someone -- and that's why Marlene died, why Caradoc has gone missing, why most of Ottery St Catchpole was burned to the ground.

"I have to go," Remus says. He wants to lick the line of Sirius' throat, bite the soft skin behind his ear. "If you see James--"

"I probably won't."

Remus starts to turn away, but Sirius stops him short by grabbing his arm, his fingers catching in Remus' sleeve. Remus isn't expecting Sirius to kiss him, and once he does Remus almost wishes he hadn't; it's too soft and too careful, and his hand is a dead weight on Remus' shoulder. His tongue flutters over Remus' lips, and Remus opens up just enough to let him in, just enough to remember.

"Please," Sirius whispers. "Please tell me it isn't you."

"I would, if I thought you would believe me."


	11. starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the perseids_

"See, there," Remus murmured, pointing at the sky. It glowed fiercely, speckled with flashing points of light that glittered brighter than the stars. "Happens every summer, about this time."

It was a fairly cool night, breezy in spite of the afternoon's quiet and relentless heat, and Remus pulled a cushy knitted blanket around himself and the baby. Lily had made it in the last month of her pregnancy, when her swollen ankles and huge belly had finally beaten her into idleness. Harry made a soft noise, curling his tiny hand around Remus' thumb, and Remus smiled. He was impossibly small, with tufts of black hair -- already untidy, just like his father -- and large unfocused eyes prone to wandering. 

"The Muggles call it the tears of Saint Lawrence," Remus continued. He shifted Harry up higher and pointed again, though he doubted Harry could see it. "It appeared in the sky the night he died."

"You're telling it wrong."

"Oh?" Remus asked, as Sirius walked out onto the porch. Remus smelled leather -- Sirius insisted on wearing that damnable jacket, even in the summer -- edged with cigarettes and sun-warm skin, everything that was essentially Sirius. "What do you know about Muggle religion?"

"Not a thing," Sirius replied cheerfully. He sank into the swing, causing it to groan and sway, and turned toward Remus with outstretched hands. "Give him here, then. You've had him hours."

Remus laughed and nudged Sirius' knee with his own. "Ten minutes, if that. And Prongs told you to share nicely."

"Bugger Prongs." Sirius leaned over Harry, his hair brushing against Remus' chin, and rearranged the blanket, wrapping and tucking until Harry was just a tiny, pink face. "How's my boy, then? Is Uncle Remus telling you one of his jolly boring stories?" 

"Astronomy is never boring," Remus said. Harry made a quiet, hiccuping noise and pulled Remus' finger into his mouth. "I was telling him about the falling stars. The tears of Saint Lawrence, and that."

"And I told you, you've got it all wrong," Sirius insisted. "I don't know about this Lawrence bloke, but those stars are Perseus' Revenge."

"Perseus?" Remus asked dubiously. "Like Perseus and Andromeda?" 

"Of course. That's his constellation, innit?" Sirius waved lazily at the sky. "He went off and killed Medusa, because -- well, I don't know why, really, I guess someone asked him to. Anyway, when he was flying back--"

"Flying?" 

"Yes, flying. He had special shoes, or something," Sirius said. "When he was flying back to -- oh, I don't remember where, but I'm sure it doesn't matter -- he was carrying Medusa's head, and her blood fell down from the sky and turned into snakes."

Harry gurgled, kicking his feet. Sirius sneaked his hand under Harry's back and eased him away from Remus. 

"Well?" Remus demanded, as Sirius settled Harry into the crook of his arm. "What happened after that? With the snakes?" 

Sirius shrugged. "I don't remember. I supposed they killed someone, or caused a great bloody mess for someone else to clean up." He smiled down at Harry and smoothed his hand over Harry's ridiculous hair. "How did he die, then? This Larry fellow of yours?"

"Saint Lawrence was martyred," Remus explained. "He was roasted."

"Burned at the stake, like?" 

"No, he was _roasted_. On a grille."

Sirius pulled a face, his mouth twisting slightly. "Why?" 

"For believing in the wrong religion."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"History rarely does."

It was quiet for a moment; Remus listened to the slow creak of the swing and the delicate buzz of the cicadas in the hedge. Sirius sighed and leaned into Remus, humming tunelessly as he rocked Harry against his chest. Voices sounded from the kitchen -- the soft arc of James asking a question and Lily's tired response. Sirius shifted Harry to his other arm and rested his hand on Remus' knee, just shy of where Remus' hand was waiting.

"You still seeing that Muggle bloke?" Sirius asked quietly. "The one from the bookshop?" 

Remus frowned. Sirius' fingers twitched, and Remus stilled them with his own hand. "Not really, no."

"Good," Sirius said. He turned his hand palm up, lacing their fingers. "I was wrong, you know. When I said we shouldn't -- that we should wait for all of this to blow over."

"I know," Remus replied evenly. His chest felt tight. "What made you change your mind?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know, really," Sirius admitted. He gave Remus' hand a careful squeeze. "I was upset when I said that. I mean, James was shouting, and Dorcas was dead, and you were bleeding, Moony, bleeding from everywhere, and I thought -- I thought maybe it would be easier if I didn't care so much." He shook his head, his hair falling in his face. "But it didn't matter. It didn't help. I still cared, and I was sleeping alone while I did it."

"And I was sleeping with that Muggle from the bookshop."

Sirius bristled slightly. "That's not why!"

"I'm sure it didn't help," Remus said. 

"Well, no. Now that you mention it, it didn't help," Sirius said. "I mean, we could die any day now. I don't want to go out thinking of you with someone else." Harry yawned, soft and sleepy, and Sirius paused to kiss the top of his head. "But that's -- mostly, I love you."

The stars glittered brightly, and Remus let himself be kissed.


	12. recollections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i still remember_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warning: adult content)

"Well, it was dark, of course," James said. He grinned wickedly, lips curved and eyebrows quirked, and Elayne Jackson leaned a bit closer. "Very, very dark."

"Really?" Elayne asked, tossing her strawberry-blonde hair. She had soft hips and wide, blue eyes, and Sirius swallowed the laughter bubbling in his chest. Apparently, James and Evans were on the outs tonight, but Sirius would eat one of Remus books before James actually did anything about it. Aside from _talk_. "How terrifying."

James took a dramatic sip of his Firewhiskey neat. "It wasn't _so_ bad. Right, Sirius?"

"Right."

"I mean, I don't mind the dark. The castle's always dark, that time of night," James continued, waving his glass. "But then -- then, we got separated."

If James kept this up, Sirius was going to need another drink. The local was positively rammed; Sirius couldn't see a clear path to the bar, so he angled around Remus' shoulder and caught the bartender's eye.

"Peter disappeared, just as I was turning the corner," James explained. His voice was ridiculously grave. "And Sirius, well, he was -- where did you end up, anyway? You never did tell me."

"On the third floor," Sirius said. _Snogging Moony behind a tapestry of Ingvald the Industrious_. "I got buggered by a staircase." He'd had spiders in his hair and dust in his nose, and he hadn't cared about any of it, because he'd finally -- _finally_ \-- had Remus' skin under his hands. "It was wait until the stairs were feeling more charitable, or go around to the North Tower and come down that way."

"And you just... waited?" James asked slowly.

Sirius shrugged. "North Tower's a long walk."

"What about you, then?" Elayne asked, turning away from James long enough to glance at Remus. "Did you get lost, too?" 

"Not lost, just misplaced. I was with Sirius," Remus replied, smiling slightly. Under the table, his hand sneaked over Sirius' knee. "I got cut off at the Owlery, and ran into him as I was coming back. I figured we'd might as well wait together. Safety in numbers, and that." 

James' expression was a tad arch. "Stairs must've had a bag on, that night."

"Quite."

"This story is rubbish," Sirius said, catching his fresh drink as it floated by. "If you really must, do the one about Snape and McKinnon's knickers."

"That was Rookwood, with McKinnon's knickers," Peter corrected, as he wandered back from the bog.

"I'm just sure it was Snape."

"It was always Snape," Remus noted, taking a long sip of Sirius' drink. "Unless it was Evans."

"Unless it was Rookwood." Peter squeezed into the seat between Remus and James, and pointed at Sirius with his Butterbeer. "Snape was the Ravenclaw tie and a pair of your brother's pants."

"Well, what am I thinking about, then?" Sirius asked, waving his hands. "I mean, I certainly remember McKinnon's knickers."

"Red lace with bows on, yes," James said quickly. "It doesn't matter, really. If you want a story--"

"That was the time James got stuck down in Slytherin," Peter went on, munching a handful of salted peanuts. "I had to dig him out of a suit of armour, like those tinned fish Atherton used to eat in bed."

"Oh, Lord," Remus said, shaking his head. Elayne giggled softly, and James' face flushed a startling shade of purple. "You said you duelled with it."

"I did!" James insisted. "I just lost, is all." Narrowing his eyes, he ran his hand through his hair. "A lot of help you tossers were, hiding out upstairs."

"We got trapped," Sirius said mildly. _In a broom cupboard_. "Filch nearly caught us, going past the Great Hall, and that blessed cat of his was on a rampage." Remus had sucked him off, soft and slow and perfect; Sirius had been shaking by the time it was done, his knees unsteady and his hands in Remus' hair. "Yowling like banshee. I thought we'd never get away."

Peter tilted his head thoughtfully. "You didn't. You never came back, that night. That armour took a chunk out of James' face, and I had to sort him out, myself."

"That's right," James said, rubbing his chin. He still had a faint scar. "Where'd you end up?" 

"Hogsmeade," Remus replied.

"What?" 

"We got about halfway back, but Filch turned up near the kitchens," Sirius explained. "We doubled around, lost him in the Charms corridor, but Peeves was there, drawing moustaches on all the portraits. He chased us all the way to the Witch, so we took the tunnel."

Elayne blinked at Sirius slowly. "You left the castle? In the middle of the night?"

"We didn't have a choice, really," Remus said. "Peeves was shouting his head off, and we'd just lost Gryffindor a hundred points for some nasty business with Niffler dung, just the night before. If we'd been caught knocking around after curfew again, McGonagall would've gone spare and murdered us in our beds."

"We hung around Honeydukes about an hour or so," Sirius continued. They'd groped in the back room, with freezing hands and chattering teeth, and everything had smelled of chocolate and sugar. "We tried to get back in, through that funny door Hagrid likes, but it wouldn't open. We nipped into the Shack instead, and stayed there until morning."

"The Shrieking Shack?" Elayne asked. "I thought that place was haunted."

"It might be," Remus said, his mouth twisting slightly. He squeezed Sirius' knee, then inched his hand up Sirius' thigh. "We didn't much care. Didn't fancy sleeping in the Forbidden Forest."

They'd slept in the Shack's glorious old bed, wrapped in twenty dusty blankets and curled around each other. The sooty hearth had refused to host a fire and the moon had been nothing but a sliver; they'd slowly moved against each other in the dark, hands grasping and hips stuttering and mouths slipping over skin, and the bed had groaned in quiet complaint as their cocks slid and rode together. It had been the first time Sirius had seen Remus naked -- _properly_ naked -- and Sirius had woke sticky and exhausted, their legs tangled and Remus' lips pressed to his neck.

"Well," James said, pushing away from the table. "I could use another drink. How about you, Elayne?" 

Elayne smiled brightly. "Sure."

"I could use another one, too." Peter stood and brushed his salty fingers on his trousers. "I think it's my shout, anyway."

Sirius watched them go, Peter cutting his way to the bar with James right on his heels, his hand hovering at Elayne's back, just shy of touching. The crowd was starting to thin; the lights had dimmed, and at the corner table, the greenish-skinned hag that never seemed to go home was nodding into her glass of sherry. Remus' hand had now wandered into dangerous territory, just a hair south of where Sirius really wanted it, and he laughed softly when Sirius shifted closer.

"Can you believe him?" Remus asked, popping one of Peter's peanuts into his mouth. "Rabbiting on all night, flirting with some girl he just met."

"He's harmless," Sirius replied. "Evans did something to put his antlers in a joint, is all." At the bar, James and Peter were engaged in an animated conversation; Elayne had already drifted away, swallowed up by a knot of birds Sirius vaguely recognised from school. Hufflepuffs, maybe. "Besides, I'm sure she's getting hers, right now. Probably putting Chizpurfles in his sock drawer."

Remus shook his head. "I've always said you didn't give her enough credit."

"No, that's James, the way he goes on about how sweet she is," Sirius said. "I've always said she's bloody-minded and devious. Nothing wrong with that, of course. Just, James doesn't learn. Always acts surprised when he gets her naffed off and then wakes up with blue hair."

"Serves him right."

"Speaking of Evans," Sirius continued, and he leaned close, his chin on Remus' shoulder. "Remember the other night, when she invited us over? Promised us dinner, and then made us sit through some tit boring tea party with her girlfriends?" 

"Yes," Remus said slowly. 

"And you went to go hide in the loo, and I followed you in?" They'd managed a good ten minutes of snogging before Lily had sent James to pound on the door, then Sirius had hexed James with exploding boils and fucked Remus over the sink. "Remember?" Remus was faintly pink around the ears; Sirius stood and nodded at the bog. "I'll just be in there, if you need me."

"I'm right behind you."


	13. serious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a picture of a red convertible_

"You can't possibly be..."

 _Serious_ was never the best word to use when talking to Sirius. The blatant pun on his name had grown tired and worn by their second year in school, but every so often, at precisely the right (wrong) time, the word would come up and Sirius would remember to find humour in it. His lips would twitch just so, and his eyebrow would lift in just the right way, and his eyes would take on a michievous glint. The laughter waiting on his tongue would untangle the most well-planned argument, and Remus would be left floundering around while his sense of decency took a holiday and his grasp of right and wrong went swirling down the pipes. 

The problem, of course, was that Sirius was never serious. Except for those daft occasions when he was.

"You're out of your tree," Remus amended hastily. In terms of bold statements, this one was far safer. It was also indisputable fact; Sirius would cheerfully admit to anyone who asked that he'd gone off the rails many, many years ago. "Completely mad."

"Come on, Moony," Sirius said, a leer crawling right over his voice. And of course, he was wearing _those_ jeans, the pair that fit him all too well simply because they rather didn't fit, at all. Remus didn't know how he could even _breathe_ in them. "Just look at it, would you?"

"All right, I'm looking."

"Bloody gorgeous, innit?" 

Sirius lounged back against the car, graceful limbs and wind-blown hair and a decidedly suggestive curve to his mouth, and Remus discovered he was hard pressed to disagree. As cars went -- and Remus didn't much go in for cars, what with one thing or another, broomsticks and Apparation and a flying motorbike of which Remus only pretended to disapprove -- it was quite attractive. It had a vaguely American air to it, all sleek lines and brutal angles and the unmistakable impression that it went very fast and looked very good while doing it. Red wasn't Remus favourite colour, aside from this one jumper Sirius owned which, like most of Sirius' clothing, looked like it had been purchased in the children's department at Gladrags, but this was a warm, dangerous red that Remus found somewhat intriguing. 

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

"Let's just go home, all right? I'll cook dinner," Remus offered desperately. "I'll make that tikka masala you're so keen on, and you can grope me while the naan is baking."

Sirius seemed to consider this compromise, but Remus didn't put too much stock in it. They'd have to go home eventually, and they'd also have to eat, and Remus would cook dinner, because that's what Remus did, and he'd end up making tikka masala, because Sirius always won that argument, and Sirius would grope him while the naan was baking anyway, because that was simply how Sirius was. 

"Moony." Sirius pulled a face that, despite incidentals like the laws of nature and physics, managed to be expectant and seductive at once. "You know you want to."

"Of course I _want_ to," Remus admitted. He valiantly ignored the heat spreading across his cheeks. "That doesn't mean I will." Sirius ridiculous expression did not change in the slightest. "It's just not right."

"I'm not trying to steal it, or anything," Sirius reasoned. He tipped his head back, subjecting Remus to a nice view of the line of his throat. "I just fancy taking a tumble in it."

Remus closed his eyes, then opened them slowly. It didn't work; Sirius was still there, and he was still indecent by dint of being alive. 

"It's not yours," Remus said finally. "It belongs to someone else."

"Someone who is not here. Gone off and left it, hasn't he?" Sirius flashed a smile that could only be described as filthy and caught Remus' hand, reeling him in. "It's his fault, really. He didn't even bother to put the lid back on it."

"It's a top, Sirius, not a lid," Remus said, doing his level best to squirm away. Sirius' mouth was looming near his neck; if it actually made contact, Remus might as well start looking around for a white flag. "And I've already said no."

"You were raised Muggle," Sirius argued, as his hand descended, in a fairly wandering fashion, toward Remus' arse. "Isn't that part of the experience? Drinking that foul, lake water Muggles call beer and getting up to no good in the back seat of automobiles?"

"I wouldn't know."

"You never did?" 

Remus looked fish-slapped for a moment; he was vaguely offended on principle, and he also didn't know where Sirius thought he would've found the time. Sirius was the third person he'd ever kissed, just behind Lily Evans (mistletoe) and Benjy Fenwick (prodigious amounts of Firewhisky), an event that had occurred when Remus was only sixteen, and as Sirius was a jealous, grabby bastard prone to clinging like a lethifold, Remus had been fairly busy ever since. 

There was also his parents' car to consider: even if Sirius had never happened to him -- and that was the way things went with Sirius, he simply just _happened_ \-- it wasn't like Remus would've been entertaining hordes of eager young Muggles. An elderly and somewhat recalcitrant Cortina that smelled faintly of boiled turnips certainly would've shortened the queue.

"No."

Sirius pulled Remus closer and shifted until his hip was pressing all the right places. "And you never thought about it?"

"Not really, no," Remus mumbled. He supposed he had thought about it once or twice, but the odour of of overripe root vegetables had always spoiled the mood. "Maybe."

Sirius barked out a laugh and vaulted into the car, and he took a handful of Remus' shirt with him, which more or less brought Remus along for the ride. Remus wound up sprawled in Sirius' lap with his feet hanging over the door and his face smashed against the crack in the leather seats, and struggling was no use, since his arm was tangled with one of the safety belts and Sirius' hand had worked its way inside his trousers. Remus rolled over, wrenching his arm free of the safety belt, but his attempt at arching away from Sirius was disrupted by Sirius manhandling him against the door and sliding down his body. He smiled as he pushed at Remus' thighs, spreading Remus open, and Remus covered his face with his hands. 

He couldn't possibly be... 

Well, yes. Of course he was serious.


End file.
